Nothing to do
by Quicksliver
Summary: A little something I wrote when the writer's strike started and I was getting sick of reruns


Click clack, click click clack clack, click click click click, clack…click… 

_Pop._

Sam glanced up from his laptop, staring at Dean who was leaning back in his chair lazily. He was balancing on two legs and trying to keep from falling, while innocently staring at the dirty white ceiling of the motel room.

He kept his eyes trained on his older brother for a second or two more, and then went back to typing. He wasn't actually anything important, just a few essays he written in school that needed some touch-ups.

He'd been working for a few minutes longer when that…_Noise_ echoed through the room again.

_Pop._

He slammed one hand down on the table, shaking it with the force from his blow and startling Dean out of his perfectly crafted balance. The chair fell with a thud and took the hunter with it, tumbling him to the ground.

"What the hell Sam?!"

"You know how much I hate that noise Dean! Jesus…" He glared at his brother, brown eyes gleaming in anger.

Dean stood up, equally angry. His own green orbs flashed in the dimly lighted room.

"Well I'm going out of my fricken' mind here!" He dusted off his jeans, which were ripped anyway, and straightened his jacket indigently. "Why the hell isn't there anything to do?!"

Sam rolled his eyes. "We've been over this almost a thousand time Dean."

"Yeah yeah, 'the writers are on strike.' What the hell does that even mean?!" Dean righted the badly varnished chair and sat, pouting. "I mean come on! We've got lives too ya know! Why do we need to wait for the writers? I'm sick of sitting in this room!"

The room _was_ horrible. Bright orange walls, two beds with questionable stains on the sheets, and three pieces of furniture. The table and two chairs.

"Well live with it. Until the writers come back we've got nothing to do." Sam went back to his computer, trying not to admit to his brother that he was getting an acute sense of cabin fever also. He wondered if maybe there was a good movie on TV.

The eldest Winchester had stood up and was pacing back and forth. He did that for awhile, but then got a bright idea.

"Whoa! What about those uh…uh…" He snapped his fingers, as if that would somehow help him remember.

"Uhhhh…" Sam motioned with one hand for the other hunter to get to the point, getting impatient.

"Fan fiction writers! What about those guys?" Dean's eyes were full of hope, staring at Sam pleadingly. Sam made a noise between and laugh and a sigh, shaking his head.

"What? They could be fun."

"Have you actually ever _read_ any of the fan fiction about us Dean?" He asked, eyebrow raised in amusement.

"What's the worst they can do?"

Dean walked through the door and slammed it shut, staring at his brother who was now browsing the internet, looking for any sign that the writers were coming back. Sam caught a glimpse of his brother's pale face out of the corner of his eye and grinned smugly.

"So, how'd it go?"

"Have you ever heard of…Wincest?" Dean was still standing by the door, shell-shocked and disturbed.

"Uh, yeah."

"And Wee-Chester?"

Sam laughed loudly. "Yep."

Dean stared at him. "And it doesn't freak you out at all? I mean, that is so fricken' creepy!" Dean walked over and sat on the edge of his bed, gripping the edge like a drowning man. "I was _pregnant_, Sam. PREGNANT!" He stared down at his washboard stomach, blinking. "I got **fat**!"

Sam rolled his eyes and gave a huff, snapping his laptop shut. "You just picked the wrong ones. Did you even _read_ the summaries?"

"The what?"

"The little words under the title that give you warnings about content. Author's rating, character death, new characters, stuff like that."

Dean gaped at him. "Do you ever worry that someday your brain might explode from all the meaningless crap you shove in there?"

His brother's right eye gave a slight twitch.

"I mean Sammy, some of the things they wrote were so…so…" He struggled to find a term. "Not me!"

"OOC."

More blank staring from the eldest Winchester, and Sam clarified.

"Out of character."

"Right."

"Well, why don't you look for one that'll keep you're interest without traumatizing you? Look for one that mentions a girl that matches you in something. Those are usually okay."

"I guess I can give it a shot." Dean headed for the door, then stopped short, turning slowly.

"How do you know so much about this?"

Sam's face flushed, and he opened his laptop and his behind it.

"Alright, don't even want to know."

When Dean next walked in he had a look of pure satisfaction on his face, his gait that of a king. This time Sam didn't even bother to look at him, content with reading.

"And..?"

"I am so awesome."


End file.
